A belaying pin is found too large to be easily inserted into its hole:the carpenter claps it into one of his ever-ready vices, and straightway files it smaller.A lost land-bird of strange plumage strays on board, and is made a captive:out of clean shaved rods of right-whale bone, and cross-beams of sperm whale ivory,the carpenter makes a pagoda-looking cage for it. An oarsman sprains his wrist:the carpenter concocts a soothing lotion.Stubb longed for vermillion stars to be painted upon the blade of his every oar;screwing each oar in his big vice of wood, the carpenter symmetrically supplies the constellation.A sailor takes a fancy to wear shark-bone ear-rings: the carpenter drills his ears.Another has the toothache: the carpenter out pincers,and clapping one hand upon his bench bids him be seated there;but the poor fellow unmanageably winces under the unconcluded operation;whirling round the handle of his wooden vice, the carpenter signs him to clap his jaw in that, if he would have him draw the tooth.
Thus, this carpenter was prepared at all points, and alike indifferent and without respect in all.Teeth he accounted bits of ivory; heads he deemed but top-blocks;men themselves he lightly held for capstans.But while now upon so wide a field thus variously accomplished and with such liveliness of expertness in him,too; all this would seem to argue some uncommon vivacity of intelligence. But not precisely so.For nothing was this man more remarkable, than for a certain impersonal stolidity as it were;impersonal, I say; for it so shaded off into the surrounding infinite of things,that it seemed one with the general stolidity discernible in the whole visible world;which while pauselessly active in uncounted modes, still eternally holds its peace,and ignores you, though you dig foundations for cathedrals.Yet was this half-horrible stolidity in him, involving, too, as it appeared,an all-ramifying heartlessness;—yet was it oddly dashed at times, with an old, crutch-like,antediluvian, wheezing humorousness, not unstreaked now and then with a certain grizzled wittiness;such as might have served to pass the time during the midnight watch on the bearded forecastle of Noah’s ark.Was it that this old carpenter had been a life-long wanderer, whose much rolling, to and fro,not only had gathered no moss; but what is more,had rubbed off whatever small outward clingings might have originally pertained to him?He was a stript abstract; an unfractioned integral; uncompromised as a new-born babe;living without premeditated reference to this world or the next. You might almost say,that this strange uncompromisedness in him involved a sort of unintelligence;for in his numerous trades, he did not seem to work so much by reason or by instinct,or simply because he had been tutored to it, or by any intermixture of all these, even or uneven;but merely by a kind of deaf and dumb, spontaneous literal process. He was a pure manipulator;his brain, if he had ever had one, must have early oozed along into the muscles of his fingers.He was like one of those unreasoning but still highly useful, _multum in parvo_,Sheffield contrivances, assuming the exterior—though a little swelled—of a common pocket knife;but containing, not only blades of various sizes, but also screw-drivers, cork-screws, tweezers,awls, pens, rulers, nail-filers, countersinkers. So,if his superiors wanted to use the carpenter for a screw-driver,all they had to do was to open that part of him, and the screw was fast: or if for tweezers,take him up by the legs, and there they were.
Yet, as previously hinted, this omnitooled, open-and-shut carpenter, was, after all,no mere machine of an automaton. If he did not have a common soul in him,he had a subtle something that somehow anomalously did its duty. What that was,whether essence of quicksilver, or a few drops of hartshorn, there is no telling. But there it was;and there it had abided for now some sixty years or more. And this it was, this same unaccountable,cunning life-principle in him; this it was, that kept him a great part of the time soliloquizing;but only like an unreasoning wheel, which also hummingly soliloquizes; or rather,his body was a sentry-box and this soliloquizer on guard there,and talking all the time to keep himself awake.
CHAPTER 108. Ahab and the Carpenter.
The Deck—First Night Watch.
(_Carpenter standing before his vice-bench,and by the light of two lanterns busily filing the ivory joist for the leg,which joist is firmly fixed in the vice. Slabs of ivory, leather straps, pads, screws,and various tools of all sorts lying about the bench. Forward, the red flame of the forge is seen, where the blacksmith is at work._)
Drat the file, and drat the bone!That is hard which should be soft, and that is soft which should be hard. So we go,who file old jaws and shinbones. Let’s try another. Aye, now, this works better (_sneezes_).Halloa, this bone dust is (_sneezes_)—why it’s (_sneezes_)—yes it’s (_sneezes_)—bless my soul, it won’t let me speak!This is what an old fellow gets now for working in dead lumber. Saw a live tree,and you don’t get this dust; amputate a live bone, and you don’t get it (_sneezes_). Come, come,you old Smut, there, bear a hand, and let’s have that ferule and buckle-screw;I’ll be ready for them presently. Lucky now (_sneezes_) there’s no knee-joint to make;that might puzzle a little; but a mere shinbone—why it’s easy as making hop-poles;only I should like to put a good finish on. Time, time; if I but only had the time,I could turn him out as neat a leg now as ever (_sneezes_) scraped to a lady in a parlor.Those buckskin legs and calves of legs I’ve seen in shop windows wouldn’t compare at all.They soak water, they do; and of course get rheumatic,and have to be doctored (_sneezes_) with washes and lotions, just like live legs. There;before I saw it off, now, I must call his old Mogulship,and see whether the length will be all right; too short, if anything, I guess. Ha!that’s the heel; we are in luck; here he comes, or it’s somebody else, that’s certain.
AHAB (_advancing_). (_During the ensuing scene, the carpenter continues sneezing at times._)
Well, manmaker!
Just in time, sir. If the captain pleases, I will now mark the length. Let me measure, sir.
Measured for a leg!good. Well, it’s not the first time. About it!There; keep thy finger on it. This is a cogent vice thou hast here, carpenter;let me feel its grip once. So, so; it does pinch some.
Oh, sir, it will break bones—beware, beware!
No fear; I like a good grip; I like to feel something in this slippery world that can hold, man. What’s Prometheus about there?—the blacksmith, I mean—what’s he about?
He must be forging the buckle-screw, sir, now.
Right. It’s a partnership; he supplies the muscle part. He makes a fierce red flame there!
Aye, sir; he must have the white heat for this kind of fine work.
Um-m. So he must. I do deem it now a most meaning thing, that that old Greek, Prometheus,who made men, they say, should have been a blacksmith, and animated them with fire;for what’s made in fire must properly belong to fire; and so hell’s probable. How the soot flies!This must be the remainder the Greek made the Africans of. Carpenter,when he’s through with that buckle, tell him to forge a pair of steel shoulder-blades;there’s a pedlar aboard with a crushing pack.
Sir?
Hold; while Prometheus is about it, I’ll order a complete man after a desirable pattern. Imprimis,fifty feet high in his socks; then, chest modelled after the Thames Tunnel; then,legs with roots to ’em, to stay in one place; then, arms three feet through the wrist;no heart at all, brass forehead, and about a quarter of an acre of fine brains;and let me see—shall I order eyes to see outwards?No, but put a sky-light on top of his head to illuminate inwards. There, take the order, and away.
Now, what’s he speaking about, and who’s he speaking to, I should like to know?Shall I keep standing here?(_aside_).
’Tis but indifferent architecture to make a blind dome; here’s one. No, no, no; I must have a lantern.
Ho, ho!That’s it, hey?Here are two, sir; one will serve my turn.
What art thou thrusting that thief-catcher into my face for, man?Thrusted light is worse than presented pistols.
I thought, sir, that you spoke to carpenter.
Carpenter?why that’s—but no;—a very tidy, and, I may say,an extremely gentlemanlike sort of business thou art in here, carpenter; —or would’st thou rather work in clay?
Sir?—Clay?clay, sir?That’s mud; we leave clay to ditchers, sir.
The fellow’s impious!What art thou sneezing about?
Bone is rather dusty, sir.
Take the hint, then; and when thou art dead, never bury thyself under living people’s noses.
Sir?—oh!ah!—I guess so;—yes—oh, dear!
Look ye, carpenter, I dare say thou callest thyself a right good workmanlike workman, eh?Well, then, will it speak thoroughly well for thy work, if,when I come to mount this leg thou makest,I shall nevertheless feel another leg in the same identical place with it; that is, carpenter,my old lost leg; the flesh and blood one, I mean. Canst thou not drive that old Adam away?
Truly, sir, I begin to understand somewhat now. Yes, I have heard something curious on that score,sir; how that a dismasted man never entirely loses the feeling of his old spar,but it will be still pricking him at times. May I humbly ask if it be really so, sir?
It is, man. Look, put thy live leg here in the place where mine once was; so, now,here is only one distinct leg to the eye, yet two to the soul. Where thou feelest tingling life;there, exactly there, there to a hair, do I. Is’t a riddle?
I should humbly call it a poser, sir.
Hist, then. How dost thou know that some entire, living,thinking thing may not be invisibly and uninterpenetratingly standing precisely where thou now standest; aye, and standing there in thy spite?In thy most solitary hours, then, dost thou not fear eavesdroppers?Hold, don’t speak!And if I still feel the smart of my crushed leg, though it be now so long dissolved; then,why mayst not thou, carpenter, feel the fiery pains of hell for ever, and without a body?Hah!
Good Lord!Truly, sir, if it comes to that, I must calculate over again; I think I didn’t carry a small figure, sir.
Look ye, pudding-heads should never grant premises.—How long before the leg is done?
Perhaps an hour, sir.
Bungle away at it then, and bring it to me (_turns to go_). Oh, Life!Here I am, proud as Greek god, and yet standing debtor to this blockhead for a bone to stand on!Cursed be that mortal inter-indebtedness which will not do away with ledgers.I would be free as air; and I’m down in the whole world’s books. I am so rich,I could have given bid for bid with the wealthiest Prætorians at the auction of the Roman empire (which was the world’s);and yet I owe for the flesh in the tongue I brag with. By heavens!I’ll get a crucible, and into it, and dissolve myself down to one small, compendious vertebra. So.
CARPENTER (_resuming his work_).
Well, well, well!Stubb knows him best of all, and Stubb always says he’s queer;says nothing but that one sufficient little word queer; he’s queer, says Stubb; he’s queer—queer,queer; and keeps dinning it into Mr. Starbuck all the time—queer—sir—queer, queer, very queer. And here’s his leg!Yes, now that I think of it, here’s his bedfellow!has a stick of whale’s jaw-bone for a wife!And this is his leg; he’ll stand on this. What was that now about one leg standing in three places,and all three places standing in one hell—how was that?Oh!I don’t wonder he looked so scornful at me!I’m a sort of strange-thoughted sometimes, they say; but that’s only haphazard-like. Then, a short,little old body like me, should never undertake to wade out into deep waters with tall,heron-built captains; the water chucks you under the chin pretty quick,and there’s a great cry for life-boats. And here’s the heron’s leg!long and slim, sure enough!Now, for most folks one pair of legs lasts a lifetime,and that must be because they use them mercifully,as a tender-hearted old lady uses her roly-poly old coach-horses. But Ahab; oh he’s a hard driver.Look, driven one leg to death, and spavined the other for life,and now wears out bone legs by the cord. Halloa, there, you Smut!bear a hand there with those screws, and let’s finish it before the resurrection fellow comes a-calling with his horn for all legs,true or false, as brewery-men go round collecting old beer barrels, to fill ’em up again. What a leg this is!It looks like a real live leg, filed down to nothing but the core;he’ll be standing on this to-morrow; he’ll be taking altitudes on it. Halloa!I almost forgot the little oval slate, smoothed ivory, where he figures up the latitude. So, so; chisel, file, and sand-paper, now!
CHAPTER 109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin.
According to usage they were pumping the ship next morning; and lo!no inconsiderable oil came up with the water; the casks below must have sprung a bad leak.Much concern was shown; and Starbuck went down into the cabin to report this unfavourable affair.*
*In Sperm-whalemen with any considerable quantity of oil on board,it is a regular semi-weekly duty to conduct a hose into the hold,and drench the casks with sea-water; which afterwards, at varying intervals,is removed by the ship’s pumps. Hereby the casks are sought to be kept damply tight;while by the changed character of the withdrawn water,the mariners readily detect any serious leakage in the precious cargo.
Now, from the South and West the Pequod was drawing nigh to Formosa and the Bashee Isles,between which lies one of the tropical outlets from the China waters into the Pacific.And so Starbuck found Ahab with a general chart of the oriental archipelagoes spread before him;and another separate one representing the long eastern coasts of the Japanese islands—Niphon,Matsmai, and Sikoke. With his snow-white new ivory leg braced against the screwed leg of his table,and with a long pruning-hook of a jack-knife in his hand, the wondrous old man,with his back to the gangway door, was wrinkling his brow, and tracing his old courses again.
“Who’s there?” hearing the footstep at the door, but not turning round to it. “On deck!Begone!”
“Captain Ahab mistakes; it is I. The oil in the hold is leaking, sir. We must up Burtons and break out.”
“Up Burtons and break out?Now that we are nearing Japan; heave-to here for a week to tinker a parcel of old hoops?”
“Either do that, sir, or waste in one day more oil than we may make good in a year.What we come twenty thousand miles to get is worth saving, sir.”
“So it is, so it is; if we get it.”
“I was speaking of the oil in the hold, sir.”
“And I was not speaking or thinking of that at all. Begone!Let it leak!I’m all aleak myself. Aye!leaks in leaks!not only full of leaky casks, but those leaky casks are in a leaky ship;and that’s a far worse plight than the Pequod’s, man. Yet I don’t stop to plug my leak;for who can find it in the deep-loaded hull; or how hope to plug it, even if found, in this life’s howling gale?Starbuck!I’ll not have the Burtons hoisted.”
“What will the owners say, sir?”
“Let the owners stand on Nantucket beach and outyell the Typhoons. What cares Ahab?Owners, owners?Thou art always prating to me, Starbuck, about those miserly owners,as if the owners were my conscience. But look ye, the only real owner of anything is its commander;and hark ye, my conscience is in this ship’s keel.—On deck!”
“Captain Ahab,” said the reddening mate, moving further into the cabin,with a daring so strangely respectful and cautious that it almost seemed not only every way seeking to avoid the slightest outward manifestation of itself,but within also seemed more than half distrustful of itself;“A better man than I might well pass over in thee what he would quickly enough resent in a younger man; aye, and in a happier, Captain Ahab.”
“Devils!Dost thou then so much as dare to critically think of me?—On deck!”
“Nay, sir, not yet; I do entreat. And I do dare, sir—to be forbearing!Shall we not understand each other better than hitherto, Captain Ahab?”
Ahab seized a loaded musket from the rack (forming part of most South-Sea-men’s cabin furniture),and pointing it towards Starbuck, exclaimed: “There is one God that is Lord over the earth,and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod.—On deck!”
For an instant in the flashing eyes of the mate, and his fiery cheeks,you would have almost thought that he had really received the blaze of the levelled tube. But,mastering his emotion, he half calmly rose, and as he quitted the cabin,paused for an instant and said: “Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir;but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh;but let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.”
“He waxes brave, but nevertheless obeys; most careful bravery that!” murmured Ahab, as Starbuck disappeared.“What’s that he said—Ahab beware of Ahab—there’s something there!” Then unconsciously using the musket for a staff,with an iron brow he paced to and fro in the little cabin;but presently the thick plaits of his forehead relaxed, and returning the gun to the rack, he went to the deck.
“Thou art but too good a fellow, Starbuck,” he said lowly to the mate;then raising his voice to the crew: “Furl the t’gallant-sails, and close-reef the top-sails,fore and aft; back the main-yard; up Burton, and break out in the main-hold.”
It were perhaps vain to surmise exactly why it was, that as respecting Starbuck, Ahab thus acted.It may have been a flash of honesty in him; or mere prudential policy which,under the circumstance, imperiously forbade the slightest symptom of open disaffection,however transient, in the important chief officer of his ship. However it was,his orders were executed; and the Burtons were hoisted.
CHAPTER 110. Queequeg in His Coffin.
Upon searching, it was found that the casks last struck into the hold were perfectly sound,and that the leak must be further off. So, it being calm weather, they broke out deeper and deeper,disturbing the slumbers of the huge ground-tier butts;and from that black midnight sending those gigantic moles into the daylight above.So deep did they go; and so ancient, and corroded, and weedy the aspect of the lowermost puncheons,that you almost looked next for some mouldy corner-stone cask containing coins of Captain Noah,with copies of the posted placards, vainly warning the infatuated old world from the flood.Tierce after tierce, too, of water, and bread, and beef, and shooks of staves,and iron bundles of hoops, were hoisted out, till at last the piled decks were hard to get about;and the hollow hull echoed under foot, as if you were treading over empty catacombs,and reeled and rolled in the sea like an air-freighted demijohn.Top-heavy was the ship as a dinnerless student with all Aristotle in his head.Well was it that the Typhoons did not visit them then.
Now, at this time it was that my poor pagan companion, and fast bosom-friend, Queequeg,was seized with a fever, which brought him nigh to his endless end.
Be it said, that in this vocation of whaling, sinecures are unknown;dignity and danger go hand in hand; till you get to be Captain,the higher you rise the harder you toil. So with poor Queequeg, who, as harpooneer,must not only face all the rage of the living whale,but—as we have elsewhere seen—mount his dead back in a rolling sea;and finally descend into the gloom of the hold,and bitterly sweating all day in that subterraneous confinement,resolutely manhandle the clumsiest casks and see to their stowage. To be short, among whalemen,the harpooneers are the holders, so called.
Poor Queequeg!when the ship was about half disembowelled, you should have stooped over the hatchway,and peered down upon him there; where, stripped to his woollen drawers,the tattooed savage was crawling about amid that dampness and slime,like a green spotted lizard at the bottom of a well. And a well, or an ice-house,it somehow proved to him, poor pagan; where, strange to say, for all the heat of his sweatings,he caught a terrible chill which lapsed into a fever; and at last, after some days’ suffering,laid him in his hammock, close to the very sill of the door of death.How he wasted and wasted away in those few long-lingering days,till there seemed but little left of him but his frame and tattooing.But as all else in him thinned, and his cheek-bones grew sharper, his eyes, nevertheless,seemed growing fuller and fuller; they became of a strange softness of lustre;and mildly but deeply looked out at you there from his sickness,a wondrous testimony to that immortal health in him which could not die, or be weakened.And like circles on the water, which, as they grow fainter, expand;so his eyes seemed rounding and rounding, like the rings of Eternity.An awe that cannot be named would steal over you as you sat by the side of this waning savage,and saw as strange things in his face, as any beheld who were bystanders when Zoroaster died.For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books.And the drawing near of Death, which alike levels all, alike impresses all with a last revelation,which only an author from the dead could adequately tell.So that—let us say it again—no dying Chaldee or Greek had higher and holier thoughts than those,whose mysterious shades you saw creeping over the face of poor Queequeg,as he quietly lay in his swaying hammock,and the rolling sea seemed gently rocking him to his final rest,and the ocean’s invisible flood-tide lifted him higher and higher towards his destined heaven.
Not a man of the crew but gave him up; and, as for Queequeg himself,what he thought of his case was forcibly shown by a curious favour he asked.He called one to him in the grey morning watch, when the day was just breaking,and taking his hand, said that while in Nantucket he had chanced to see certain little canoes of dark wood,like the rich war-wood of his native isle; and upon inquiry,he had learned that all whalemen who died in Nantucket, were laid in those same dark canoes,and that the fancy of being so laid had much pleased him;for it was not unlike the custom of his own race, who, after embalming a dead warrior,stretched him out in his canoe, and so left him to be floated away to the starry archipelagoes;for not only do they believe that the stars are isles, but that far beyond all visible horizons,their own mild, uncontinented seas, interflow with the blue heavens;and so form the white breakers of the milky way. He added,that he shuddered at the thought of being buried in his hammock, according to the usual sea-custom,tossed like something vile to the death-devouring sharks. No:he desired a canoe like those of Nantucket, all the more congenial to him, being a whaleman,that like a whale-boat these coffin-canoes were without a keel;though that involved but uncertain steering, and much lee-way adown the dim ages.
Now, when this strange circumstance was made known aft,the carpenter was at once commanded to do Queequeg’s bidding, whatever it might include.There was some heathenish, coffin-coloured old lumber aboard, which, upon a long previous voyage,had been cut from the aboriginal groves of the Lackaday islands,and from these dark planks the coffin was recommended to be made.No sooner was the carpenter apprised of the order, than taking his rule,he forthwith with all the indifferent promptitude of his character,proceeded into the forecastle and took Queequeg’s measure with great accuracy,regularly chalking Queequeg’s person as he shifted the rule.
“Ah!poor fellow!he’ll have to die now,” ejaculated the Long Island sailor.
Going to his vice-bench, the carpenter for convenience sake and general reference,now transferringly measured on it the exact length the coffin was to be,and then made the transfer permanent by cutting two notches at its extremities. This done,he marshalled the planks and his tools, and to work.
When the last nail was driven, and the lid duly planed and fitted,he lightly shouldered the coffin and went forward with it,inquiring whether they were ready for it yet in that direction.
Overhearing the indignant but half-humorous cries with which the people on deck began to drive the coffin away,Queequeg, to every one’s consternation,commanded that the thing should be instantly brought to him, nor was there any denying him;seeing that, of all mortals, some dying men are the most tyrannical; and certainly,since they will shortly trouble us so little for evermore, the poor fellows ought to be indulged.
Leaning over in his hammock, Queequeg long regarded the coffin with an attentive eye.He then called for his harpoon, had the wooden stock drawn from it,and then had the iron part placed in the coffin along with one of the paddles of his boat.All by his own request, also, biscuits were then ranged round the sides within:a flask of fresh water was placed at the head,and a small bag of woody earth scraped up in the hold at the foot;and a piece of sail-cloth being rolled up for a pillow,Queequeg now entreated to be lifted into his final bed, that he might make trial of its comforts,if any it had. He lay without moving a few minutes,then told one to go to his bag and bring out his little god, Yojo.Then crossing his arms on his breast with Yojo between,he called for the coffin lid (hatch he called it) to be placed over him.The head part turned over with a leather hinge,and there lay Queequeg in his coffin with little but his composed countenance in view.“Rarmai” (it will do; it is easy), he murmured at last, and signed to be replaced in his hammock.
But ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all this while,drew nigh to him where he lay, and with soft sobbings, took him by the hand; in the other, holding his tambourine.
“Poor rover!will ye never have done with all this weary roving?where go ye now?But if the currents carry ye to those sweet Antilles where the beaches are only beat with water-lilies, will ye do one little errand for me?Seek out one Pip, who’s now been missing long: I think he’s in those far Antilles. If ye find him,then comfort him; for he must be very sad; for look!he’s left his tambourine behind;—I found it. Rig-a-dig, dig, dig!Now, Queequeg, die; and I’ll beat ye your dying march.”
“I have heard,” murmured Starbuck, gazing down the scuttle, “that in violent fevers, men,all ignorance, have talked in ancient tongues; and that when the mystery is probed,it turns out always that in their wholly forgotten childhood those ancient tongues had been really spoken in their hearing by some lofty scholars.So, to my fond faith, poor Pip, in this strange sweetness of his lunacy,brings heavenly vouchers of all our heavenly homes. Where learned he that, but there?—Hark!he speaks again: but more wildly now.”
“Form two and two!Let’s make a General of him!Ho, where’s his harpoon?Lay it across here.—Rig-a-dig, dig, dig!huzza!Oh for a game cock now to sit upon his head and crow!Queequeg dies game!—mind ye that; Queequeg dies game!—take ye good heed of that; Queequeg dies game!I say; game, game, game!but base little Pip, he died a coward; died all a’shiver;—out upon Pip!Hark ye; if ye find Pip, tell all the Antilles he’s a runaway; a coward, a coward, a coward!Tell them he jumped from a whale-boat!I’d never beat my tambourine over base Pip, and hail him General, if he were once more dying here. No, no!shame upon all cowards—shame upon them!Let ’em go drown like Pip, that jumped from a whale-boat. Shame!shame!”
During all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream. Pip was led away,and the sick man was replaced in his hammock.
But now that he had apparently made every preparation for death;now that his coffin was proved a good fit, Queequeg suddenly rallied;soon there seemed no need of the carpenter’s box: and thereupon,when some expressed their delighted surprise, he, in substance, said,that the cause of his sudden convalescence was this;—at a critical moment,he had just recalled a little duty ashore, which he was leaving undone;and therefore had changed his mind about dying: he could not die yet, he averred. They asked him,then, whether to live or die was a matter of his own sovereign will and pleasure. He answered,certainly. In a word, it was Queequeg’s conceit, that if a man made up his mind to live,mere sickness could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale, or some violent, ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort.
Now, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized; that while a sick,civilized man may be six months convalescing, generally speaking,a sick savage is almost half-well again in a day. So, in good time my Queequeg gained strength;and at length after sitting on the windlass for a few indolent days (but eating with a vigorous appetite) he suddenly leaped to his feet,threw out his arms and legs, gave himself a good stretching, yawned a little bit,and then springing into the head of his hoisted boat, and poising a harpoon, pronounced himself fit for a fight.